


So comes snow after fire

by liliumweiss



Series: what the signs are made of [1]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Also character death, Alternate Universe, Dark One Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Dragon Riders, F/M, but not Emma or Killian, dragonrider!Emma, kind of Dark Captain Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-17
Updated: 2019-05-11
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:46:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liliumweiss/pseuds/liliumweiss
Summary: Part of the "what the signs are made of" series.aries → dragon fire, the devil’s laugh, silver





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick ficlet born out of an idea that wouldn't leave me alone. Go on my tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm to see the aesthetic that goes with the fic ;)

She goes to him out of despair.

The first thing he notices is her skin, how it seems to sparkle beneath the sunlight, as if stardust had settled on it. It’s a dead giveaway, he immediately knows who -  _what_  - she is, just as she knows who -  _what_  - he is.

«Please, help me,» it’s her plea, her strong demeanor a mask, an armor, much like the one the dragon behind her wears.

Emma is her name, the last dragon rider to still live. He shudders when flashes of memories that not belong to him fill his mind, a evil, maniac laugh resounding in his ears only.

He can’t help, as much as he would like to. His heart is dark,  _he_  is the incarnation of darkness, he shouldn’t even want to help her without a personal profit.

Yet, it seems that deep down he still is a honourable man. He scoffs at that.

There’s not much he can do, the wound too deep and the dragon’s delicate condition in the darkness’ way.

The dragon - Maleficent, he learns, something akin to a mother to Emma - lays her egg and dies before he can do anything to save her, the black arrow that pierced her with dreamshade. He hopes the child is as strong as its mother: to resist such a deadly poison should be impossible.

Emma is devastated: although a rider could live when its dragon dies, a dragon would die alongside its rider. It doesn’t mean, tough, that a rider would still survive their companion.

She cradles the egg in her hands. It’s quite small, decidedly premature, but he feels its power beneath the scales covering the shell, he can almost  _taste_  it in his mouth. It’s very much similar to Emma’s but different at the same time, it’s not the same light magic he should feel threatened by. Instead, he’s fascinated by it.

Drying her tears and letting out a soft hiccup, Emma lifts her green eyes onto him. She gulps audibly. «What… what is your price, Dark One?»

Her question shouldn’t hurt him. It does.

«Killian,» he immediately corrects her, dread stiffening his spine. Names have power, names are dangerous, he shouldn’t have done that. What he shouldn’t have done either was taking out his flask and offering it to her.

Neither of them knows how it happens, how they end up in his bed, a bed he’s never slept in, a bed in which he worships her body all night long, making her forget her pain, just for a while as the egg lays in a nest he’s conjured.

In the end, Emma never leaves.

Or, rather, she  _does_ , but she always comes back.

The cottage she lives in, far, far away from the castle she once inhabited before the war happened and she ceased to be a princess, is too empty without Mal, and she has no idea when the child will be born. So she seeks another companion, a human one. Emma knows he isn’t, just like her: two human vessels for two different kind of magic that shouldn’t be contained.

Light and Darkness completed each other, intertwining like lovers’ limbs, annulling one another so Emma and Killian could be themselves, allowing those lost souls to learn how to love.

Emma doesn’t move in, she simply stays at the castle. It’s strange to wear dresses again, the last memory of wearing such embellished gowns a distant one, almost fading into a dream.

Having magic is indeed a perk when it comes to dresses, and more than once she lets Killian follow his instincts, smiling widely whenever she sees a new dress waiting for her.

One in particular is her favourite. She doesn’t know what fabric it’s made of, Emma only knows she loves it. It’s silver, shining under the sun and the moon, light as a feather and making her look as if she’s covered with scales or an armor. It’s not only because of her new wardrobe that she feels like a princess again, but it plays quite the part in her sensations.

And then, as summer fades into winter, Mal’s child is born.

They name her Lilith, after Mal’s dying wish. Emma knows she won’t sully her companion’s memory by calling her Lily for short.

Her scales are silver, creating an indescribable effect whenever light washes upon her. It simply takes their breath away, but nothing could describe how they feel when Lily first takes off, flying up in the sky, stumbling a little, like a child taking their first steps.

People talk, and word that the last dragon rider and the Dark One ar together spreads rapidly. There’s fear, of course, but the villagers also know the Dark One isn’t cruel, not anymore. Alright, perhaps he is, but just a bit, only when what he loves is threatened.

Turns out, the Dark One can be good, and although wary of him and the dragon napping beneath a tree in the large garden, commoners seek his help, knowing he won’t trade his favours for deals. Sometimes he requires a payment, something worthless or that he know Emma would secretly like - she would never admit it, but she is indeed like a dragon hoarding nice little things like shiny jewels or beautiful gowns - so they would not take him for granted. After all, he still has a reputation to uphold.

Killian almost faints when Emma tells him she’s with child. He’s delighted, of course, but he fears the darkness inside him could harm the babe or influence its heart.

«My love,» Emma smiles softly, cupping his cheeks and faintly brushing her thumbs over his cheeks, «I have no doubt that our child will have your good heart. Whatever darkness may seep into them will never take root, because you’ll be there to help them keep at bay, much like you do every day. I might have been the cause for your change of heart, but you changed on your own.»

Once upon a time, he would’ve been ashamed of crying in front of someone, loathing the thought of doing so even in front of Liam. Now he only surges forward, wetly taking her lips with his, the darkness lingering but purring like a cat as the light softly returns its love.

However, it doesn’t help when, just a few months later, not only one but  _two_  dragons show up at the castle.

Killian knows little of how these tings works, the visions of the past Dark Ones only bad memories in his head and so he has no access to their information.

One look at Emma and her wide eyes and slightly parted lips tells him it’s important.

«Oh.»

It’s faint, a fleeble sound that should calm him, worrying him instead. Magic prickles beneath his skin as Emma brings her hand over her slightly rounded belly.

Emma turns her gaze on him, a tiny, tearful smile curling her lips. «Well, it appears we will have twins.»

It’s only thanks to Lily’s presence behind him that allows Killian to not fall on the ground when, this time, he does indeed faint.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You asked for more, and here you have more! @kmomof4 and @profdanglaisstuff this is for you. I needed to write something down today and you gave me a pretext to do so and to answer your pleas.
> 
> This won’t turn into a MC, I can’t do that when I’m overwhelmed already and I’m a sloth writer (no, me writing such short ficlets is not proof that I’m a fast one), but I might add more bits of life to this ‘verse. In the meantime, enjoy this angsty-feelsy interlude-
> 
> (Also forgive any mistake, this is the first time I actually continue something I wrote in present tense.)
> 
> If you want, hit me up on my tumblr at darkcolinodonorgasm.
> 
> Enjoy ;)

A wave of his hand, just a touch of his magic and the sunlight could easily disappear behind closed curtains.

There’s a problem, however: he doesn’t want to. Not when the sun is making Emma’s hair pure gold, glowing in the dim light like fire. With the tip of his fingers he traces the line of her spine, keeping his touch light enough for her not to wake up yet.

Killian feels… happy, almost. He’s never felt that way, his heart full of light instead of darkness, even though it still lingers, black tentacles wrapping around it, trying to overcome and beat the light in vain.

They’ve not been… _lovers_ for long, only a few months, but what she makes him feel still manages to turn his world upside down. It scares him, it scares the _darkness_ , but Killian knows this feeling is wort fighting for.

«Go back to sleep,» comes her sleepy grumble, her head burrowing in his chest even further. A chuckle dies in his throat, his fingers never stop moving along their path.

«You forget, darling, I don’t sleep.» His voice is tinged with sadness: he’d love to close his eyes and dream of her, to find her light in the dark of his subconscious, his only way to escape the darkness.

Is that why Dark Ones don’t sleep, to be able to escape their demons, sacrificing their dreams to impede the darkness of taking hold of them?

Emma hums in disagreement. «You’re wrong: you could sleep, you just don’t want to. Or feel the need to.»

He doesn’t reply, his fingers still moving over her skin. The fire in the hearth is still crackling: though he doesn’t need it, Emma does, dragon riders can be many things, but not a dragon itself. It’s a tad counterproductive, since she’s naked from the waist up, the thick blankets pooled around her hips. Beneath them, her legs are tangled up with his.

«May I ask you something?»

Her whine makes him chuckle softly. Emma is definitely not a morning person, unlike him. It’s strange: though his body don’t miss the way he used to wake up with the sun, his mind and heart do.

When he thinks she’s gone back to sleep, she nods sleepily against his chest.

During their time together they talked a lot, sometimes barely touching the topic of their relationship, sometimes merely spending their time together, Killian showing off his magic and Emma learning a few tricks from him. That’s what happens when someone with magic grows up never learning how to control and use it. He’s yet to discover what happened to Emma, he knows she’s an orphan, that her beloved late dragon was more of a mother to her than her actual mother ever was. Not by choice, however, that much he knows.

His eyes roam over her figure, the stars on her skin shining. He never understood what those shiny freckles mean. Truth is, until he met her, he never bothered, his knowledge about dragon riders decidedly limited. If there’s something Killian Jones never gave up, is his innate curiosity. And right now, he was hungry of information.

«How do dragons recognize their rider? How do they know where to find them, and when do they?»

The way Emma’s fingers tighten in his chest hair tells him she wasn’t expecting this kind of question. Killian waits, and waits, and after a few moments, Emma exhales a shaky breath, ruffling his chest hair and sending shivers down his spine and blood runs south at the innocent stimulation. He bites his cheek, almost drawing blood as he tries to placate his desire.

She moves around a bit, settling her cheek better over his chest. Absentmindedly, her fingers start to draw abstract designs on the soft flesh of his stomach. Killian gulps. «Mal never actually explained it to me,» she begins in a soft whisper, her eyes still closed, «not because she didn’t know how the bond works, but because she couldn’t explain it. She-» Emma wets her lips. «She said it was like explaining love: how do you do that? How do you explain love?»

The question fills the silence, echoing after Emma stops talking. For a few moments, neither of them speaks, both trying to find an answer to that inquiry.

«What I do know, however,» she continues, nosing his abdomen, the tip of her nose impossibly icy, «is that dragons show up when the rider isn’t yet born. It could be a shock if they are the first rider the family, which is why dragons are usually kept as far away as possible. Can’t say I can blame them, hadn’t I been raised knowing who I was, I would have feared the sudden appearance of a dragon in my garden, too.»

Her laugh is bitter, and Killian suspects why. Much like him, she knows who she is, what her name and purpose are, but not who she _really_ is, the roots she has not enough to delineate a certain future.

«Dragons can spend centuries waiting for their rider to be born. There’s no competition, but if a dragon hears the call, they heed it with the utmost respect, taking the title with honour.»

Emma opens her eyes, settling on her side but still pressed tightly against Killian. She obscures the sun, both figuratively and literally. There’s no other way to describe the effect she has on him.

«It falls upon the dragons to ultimately train the riders, especially after the Order has been decommissioned. I’m sure you know I’m the last rider still alive. Truth is, I never met another. And as you must know, I’m much older than I look. The last rider died just before my fourth birthday, or so Mal told me.»

He sees her licking her lips, her gaze shift and her walls rise around her. She still needs time to open up, but Killian is a patient man, he can wait.

«I was eight when my parents died and I was forced to flee,» Emma declares hesitantly, sharing a tiny crumb of her past with him. «Mal brought me somewhere safe, and she just… raised me.» She snorts, probably remembering a funny fact Killian desires to know, but stops himself from asking. «Dragons and riders are companions for life, we’re deeply connected to each other, but for them everything is amplified. We can feel what they feel and vice versa. Sometimes, with the right spell, I could even _see_ through Mal’s eyes, becoming one with her.»

Killian swallows, wondering how it would be to lose someone you share such a deep connection with. He once thought he was in love, but he never felt the way he does now, with Emma, _alive_. What would he do if he lost her, he wonders. He truly hopes he never has to find out.

He decides to focus on her sadness, on the lump he knows has formed in her throat from the way her voice wavers. Soon, he knows, she’ll search an escape in him. Killian doesn’t feel used, not when he knows she isn’t actually using him, not always their dalliances start out of desperation. There’s desire, there’s sentiment, and sometimes they both wish it was only out of grief. But it isn’t, which is why they keep going back to each other. They need to feel something, they always had the need to feel alive, and now they finally can.

«Would you be able to ride another dragon?» Killian wonders, trying not to get distracted by the way her body moves against his, her foot running up and down his calf. Trying being the keyword here.

Emma sighs and shakes her head. «I could, but I would never be connected to them in the way I was Mal.» She frowns for a moment, but it’s gone in a blink. Killian doesn’t ask, but one day he will. A pout forms on her lips, and Killian knows it’s over. For now. «You woke me up, Captain, and I hate waking up this early.»

He bites his lower lip to keep himself from smiling. He fails. Rolling over, Killian covers her body with his, his nose brushing against her cheek. «Perhaps I can make it up to you,» he whispers hoarsely, pressing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, and down, down, until he can settle between her soft but strong thighs, making her forget every worry that might fill her head. Killian manages to make her forget her own name.

The way she snuggles up to him when they’re both sweaty and panting tells him and his heart it wasn’t only a way to forget.

Perhaps it never was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From the prompt: CS stargazing. Pretty, please!

His magic tingles his skin, almost as if it wants to burst out of his palms. He knows why, but he doesn't regret not using it.

The night is unusually quiet, or would be if Emma wasn't grunting and mumbling that she is still asleep and if he wants to drag her outside he has to actually drag her to the garden.

Which is exactly what he's doing.

He could have just teleported her outside, but Emma is what keeps him himself most of the time, and he wants to do things normally for once. In this case, Killian wants to surprise her.

More than, he wants to show her something he never showed anyone else. Until he met her, Killian never realized the darkness could be used without it needing a price to be paid. The darkness has not disappeared completely, it probably never will, but Emma… even if indirectly, she never allows it to take hold of him and plant roots, to dig its talons into his flesh and ruin him completely.

Another grumble makes him look over his shoulder, where Emma trails behind him whilst rubbing her eyes. He can't help it, he lets his eyes roam down her body, taking in the way the white burgundy shift she is wearing, a thin thing, made of almost transparent fabric, gently hugs her curves, not too tightly but not too loose either. He still is able to make out the curve of her breasts, his hungry gaze focusing for a moment over her hard nipples, consequence of the night breeze. He can't say that he minds.

Squeezing her fingers with his, Killian moves quicker, reaching the kitchens - place he's probably stepped into once or twice before meeting Emma - and the heading towards the little door at the very end of it, a blue orb swirling in front of him as it lightens their path.

«I'm going to murder you,» Emma murmurs, voice thick with sleep. He'd feel sorry - he does, actually - for waking her up in the dead of the night, if he didn't know she will love it.

Emma always speaks of how wonderful it is to see the world from high up above, to touch the clouds and enjoy that freedom she never felt before, but what Killian wants to show her is something she will never be able to see, not even on a dragon's back.

She's been in the garden right in front of the castle training Lily from dawn ‘til dusk, only taking a break to eat something. She needs to work fast with Lily, no one knows when her calling will be, or if it will ever happen, but in case it does, she needs to be ready. Something in the back of Killian's mind, tells him things are different, that Lily won't have the call because she already has found her rider, but he can't be sure, and he sure as hell won't give Emma false hopes.

He opens the door with a flick of his wrist, the orb disappearing with a soft sigh, leaving them to be guided by the stars alone.

Padding over the chilly grass, both of them barefoot, the Dark One and the woman who is slowly but surely becoming a light in the darkness, much like a star, the brightest one, like Sirius. No, no, like the bloody sun.

Even though he doesn’t need to sleep, Killian spends time in bed with Emma anyway, letting her curl against his chest. Sometimes, he does sleep. It’s a rare event, not a too happy one, darkness always looming and invading his thoughts. He’s never deemed himself lucky, but whenever he wakes up gasping or screaming, Emma is always there. If he doesn’t wake her up, he just holds her close, breathing her scent as his heart stops pounding. Otherwise, Emma talks to him, calms him, and whenever her words are not enough, her actions make him forget, either fast and rough or slow and tenderly, soothing his soul and healing his blackened heart.

Because of this habit, he’s now wearing linen pants and a shirt, even if he usually doesn’t wear one, especially not after Emma manifested her deep fascination with his chest hair and body warmth. He can’t deny her anything.

Suddenly, Emma disentangles her hand from his, only to go laying down onto the grass, humming in satisfaction as she stretches there.

Killian chuckles, a warm feeling enveloping her heart. He imitates her, his body buzzing in anticipation. Suddenly, he feels like a child, a sensation he’s forgotten and never felt in a very long time. Turning his head to look at her, he admires how beautiful she is, kissed by the moonlight. The peculiarity of her skin makes it shine as if the stars had fallen and landed on her.

«Open your eyes,» he orders gently, reaching out to take her hand in his.

With a grunt, Emma does as asked, eyes widening in wonderment at the sight above her head.

Given the position of the castle and the lack of other lights around, the sky is neater and seems oddly closer than usual. A smile draws on Killian’s face.

It takes her a moment to take it all in. «It’s- Killian,» she gasps, «this is wonderful.»

A chuckle escapes his lips, leaving a wicked grin in its wake as he turns his head to look at the sky. «When I was a lad, I loved looking at the stars. My dear mother… she told me the stories connected to the constellations. When I joined the Navy, I used the stars to navigate, though I already knew how to, even if just a bit - slaves don’t get to know anything, except for what their orders are.»

Emma squeezes his hand, bringing it to her lips and pressing a soft kiss on the back of it. His entire body trembles.

Not speaking another word, he waves his free hand towards the sky, all the while looking at Emma, cataloguing the changes in her expression. She gasps again, green eyes widening as she witnesses the wonders of nature.

Casting a quick glance towards the sky, Killian felt his heart jump. Every time, the sensation is the same: he feels so little and insignificant, but always in awe.

«I’d ask how,» Emma’s voice breaks the solemn silence, gaze never moving away from the stars, «but I think I don’t want to know.»

It’s a breathtaking sight, the stars now so close they can see how they really are, always in movement, expanding and giving them the illusion of moving with them.

He lifts his hand, pointing at one of the constellations. «That one,» Killian begins, connecting the stars and leaving a magical faint trace to let her see its form, «is Scorpius, the sign you’re born under.» Killian knows how much it means to Emma that someone knows those little things about her, information she deems important but would never admit she does. She’s staring at him, he knows, but he keeps speaking, telling her, enrapturing her with the story of the battle between Orion and the scorpion.

He moves his hand, and the stars suddenly move faster. «Apologies, I should’ve warned you,» he murmurs, but Emma shakes her head, turning to look at him.

«Scorpius isn’t in this hemisphere, is it?» she wonders, brows knitting together adorably. Killian wants to smooth the skin there with a kiss.

«No, it’s not.» He doesn’t add more, there’s no need: he’s used his magic, magic he restrains himself from using because he believes he won’t come back out from the darkness if he goes down that path. It tells Emma he wasn’t afraid when he decided to use it for her. She can’t begin to express how much it means to her. «Alas, it was an illusion, but these,» he waves his hand towards the bright stars Emma never thought she could see so closely, «these are the ones you can see every night.»

He then traces another constellation, sure she’ll love that one, a smile pulling at his lips. «May I introduce you to Draco?»

Killian tells her about almost every constellation they can see, sometimes recreating the Southern hemisphere again. He particularly enjoys those shifts, the quiet surprised gasps music to his ears.

Dawn is still hours away when he rolls onto his side, head propped onto one hand to better stare down at her. He catalogues every detail of her visage, from the sparkle in her irises, almost blue, even, to the way her lips curl up or part when the stars seem so dangerously close she fears they could fall from the sky.

With his free hand, he traces scorching trails over her ribs, her shift riding up, exposing her calves. She turns her head, and Killian’s swift to capture her lips with his own in a gentle kiss, probably the sweetest they ever exchanged. He can’t say that he minds.

Looming over her, his hand sneaks down her body, gripping the hem of her shift and gently tugging at it. Emma moans into his mouth as the cold air hits her nipples. Killian smirks.

«Keep your eyes open,» he whispers in her ear, a quiet order she follows as he trails open mouthed kisses along her neck, blatantly ignoring the hard peaks atop her soft mounds. He stops when the neckline impedes him from continuing. Changing his tactic, he noses her stomach, breathing warm air from above the fabric, making her squirm at the warmth she must feel. In the back of his mind, Killian wonders if it could be described as his own kind of fire.

A loud moan fills the air as he breaths right above her still-covered sex, the knowledge she’s not wearing undergarments making his manhood throb. Tonight, however, is about Emma, not himself.

With his nose he traces a line up her thigh, sucking marks every few inches as he gets closer to his treasure, tongue swirling and tasting Emma’s skin.

Emma never closes her eyes, not even when the pleasure is so great she’s tempted to and her eyes threaten to flutter close every time she blinks. She’s fisting his hair as he lets his tongue slid through her folds, the other hand clawing at the earth as her feet plants onto the ground. It’s not easy to follow his order, especially not when she knows Killian will gladly punish her for disobeying him.

What she’s seeing now, what she’s feeling, what Killian is making her feel, though, is worth listening to him.

Much like for many sayings, she doesn’t know about their origin, but in this case, one thing she knows for sure: whatever they meant when they forged the expression “to make them see stars” would never compare to the new significance those words have now taken.

The stars have never been more beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s here! Dark Hook is here! Alright, alright, he never actually left, since, well, this is a fic about Dark Killian. Duh. But this is absolute darkness™, my friends. This is a gift for the wonderful @hollyethecurious who, not only helped me with it, but also involuntarily prompted it back when I posted chapter one. Apparently, I could just see Killian go into full Dark One mode just because you read it, Hollye. So, thank you.
> 
> This takes place way before the last sections of the first one shot, but after the stargazing one shot.
> 
> As you probably understood, this is pretty dark, and it’s mostly emotional whump. I think. Basically, Killian’s level of self-loathing is over 9000. The one shot is just level 5000. Ah well.
> 
> Hope you enjoy and, if you want, come say hi at darkcolinodonorgasm on tumblr :3

She knows something’s wrong the moment her feet touch the ground. Lily knows that, too, fire literally coiling in her chest, ready to incinerate whatever threat has found its way inside the castle.

Emma halts her with a hand on her scales, warning her to stay away, to even flee if it becomes too dangerous.

Her light magic buzzes beneath her dermis, her palms _glowing_ at the intensity. There could be only one explanation to the desolation that has descended on the valley, almost killing everything around the castle. The building, though, the beautiful, massive, memories-holding palace is wrapped in a net of darkness mere eyes can’t see whereas hers can. Her heart breaks as the almost tangible pitch black tendrils stroke the stones, almost sneering at her as it claims the man inside the castle as its own.

_No_ , her mind wants to shout, _he’s_ mine.

Clenching her fists so tightly her knuckles turn a snowy shade of white, Emma stalks towards the castle.

Oh, but the darkness is vicious, knowing what she can do. Whilst she has no desire of getting rid of the magic inside of Killian, Emma knows it comes with a price, like al magic does. For many years, he confided her in the dead of the night when she was woken up by his screams, his mind trying to rest but failing because of choirs of voices haunting his nightmares, Killian has been prey of a magic he never wanted but found himself unable to live without. Magic corrupted him, hence why he’s reluctant to use it, even when she’s started to banish those demons with her proximity, even if he can find the light inside of him on his own.

Today is ten times worse than when she saw shadows cross his face and shut her out for the umpteenth time, much like she used to do. They’re good at what people refer as a relationship, but they ain’t perfect, far from it, but they _try_ , and that’s what matters.

Right now, however, Emma feels her heart beat painfully in her chest, hoping she can breach through the darkness and show him there’s light beyond all the pain he must be feeling. Just like she knows his body, she knows his heart: albeit darkened, it’s bright red. It’s not a rider’s perk, being able to see how a heart truly is without taking it out of one’s chest, it’s something every partner, every… _lover_ , can see, if their feelings are true. The realization doesn’t scare her as it used to, it fuels her magic instead, determination oozing off her as she finally reaches the castle.

Above her head, she knows, clouds are swirling, gathering thunders in the dark blue sky. It looks as if night has fallen – or rather, as if it never ended.

The black tendrils, the _darkness_ hisses at her approach, retreating slightly against the cold stones like a serpent about to attack. Again, Emma never faced such uncontrolled darkness, _pure_ darkness in need of more light to snuff out, and what better light than a rider’s, especially one born out of True Love?

She tilts her head, almost sensing a weakness in that barrier, as if… Her eyes narrow slightly. All she has is a theory, one she came up with mere seconds ago, but it’s more than a theory, it’s instinct.

Everyone, including magical users – especially them, actually – have always thought of the darkness as its own entity, as something able of controlling a man’s will. And it does, but never unwillingly. No, no, the darkness is dangerous because it brings its host’s deepest desire to light, uncovering every agonizing need they have. As much as it wears out the host, it’s the host itself to act, to succumb the darkness, to murder or do unspeakable things.

Emma hopes it’s not come to that.

She’s never been so close to the darkness as she is now, not even whenever she’s around Killian as it is. He’s always been good at drowning it deep inside him, yet Emma never understood how much it consumed in from the inside-out.

A deep intake of a breath and she pushes the main door open. The darkness recoils at her passage at first, it knows she’s pure light. It doesn’t surprise her that darkness and light seek each other out, that they’re drawn to each other, just like it doesn’t surprise her the tendrils reaching out to graze her skin, to _taste_ light. They don’t recoil, some stroke her skin, languidly, and she’d be lying if she said she doesn’t _enjoy_ that sublime sensation. It’s the fascination of the darkness, Emma won’t deny it’s fascinating, it’d be denying she-

Suddenly, as her thoughts focus on a particular sensation, one she knows the name though won’t speak aloud, the darkness recoils as if burnt by her light magic flaring up like dragon fire inside her. A smirk appears on her lips: the darkness my taunt her, try to lure her into madness, but it’s been her fire that drew Killian to her, and he doesn’t flinch away from her. He never did.

Inside the castle there was no light, no candle aflame, not even _ignis fatui_ he conjures just for her so she can easily find him in the maze that is his castle, even if she could use her own magic to track him, even if she now knows the palace like the back of her hand.

Faint whispers fill her ears, voices attempting to seduce her. Little do they know she’s already succumbed to the darkness in her own way by allowing Killian inside her and her heart, by allowing the darkness in him inside, too. Their hearts may be dark, their thoughts may not be innocent, yet they are not pure evil.

A sphere of light forms on her palm, its light making the darkness hiss and retreat. A few beats, and some of the curiouser tendrils reach out in wonder. Emma smirk grows wider.

There’s only one place Killian could hide, a room she never step foot in: as he never entered her little cottage without being allowed inside first, she knows better than not to do the same with what she calls his sanctuary.

It’s not the highest tower, nor in what once were the dungeons, nor a crypt in the depths of the castle. Instead, it’s a ballroom, or what used to be a ballroom, at least. Emma suspects why he sometimes barricades himself there, if the telescope out on the wide terrace is any indication. It saddens her, and the spark of an idea lights up in the back of her mind. Part of  her worries about how he would react, but one look at the corridors surrounding her makes those thoughts disappear. She needs to find Killian.

Slowly, knowing the darkness still has a hold on him and it surely has informed him of her arrival, Emma climbs the huge marble staircase. Beneath her heeled leather boots, the darkness shies away, clearing her path both out of fear and amazement.

Her steps echo on the high walls, filling the emptiness and warning Killian she’s coming, that she’s almost there, that soon there will be light again.

Emma’s heart beats fast, blood pulsing in her ears, almost deafening her, because she’s terrified. Dread is worse than darkness, it’s more difficult to swallow, to drown: denying its existence won’t make it disappear, it’ll only fuel it to the point the consequences of its explosion will be catastrophic. So Emma doesn’t deny she’s afraid of what she’ll find behind the high doors, but for Killian’s sake, because he’s way more important than her own fear, she’s not letting it take control of her, much like he never let the darkness win, for her and for himself.

The pitch black tentacles open the door for her, inviting her in. But Emma’s astute like a fox, and closes her eyes. Beneath the slightly louder murmurs, the silence is broken by quiet whimpers, muffled sounds of pain she knows belong to Killian. He’s not crying, but he’s suffering.

Raising her right hand, Emma knocks lightly, knuckles rasping gently against the doorframe. «Killian?» she asks, addressing the man, not the darkness, «may I enter?»

Her knees almost give out from under her at the sound of his voice.

«You didn’t ask permission to enter my castle.»

Killian’s voice has never sounded like that, low and gruffy, not even during sex, not even when he managed to bring her to the highest peaks _just_ with his own voice. That’s not his voice, yet it is. A lump forms in her throat: not only his voice is unrecognizable, but his words cut deep. It may be the darkness speaking, but the words come from deep within the man.

«Killian,» she speaks again, gently firm, «may I enter?»

It’s strange, but it seems to her the darkness let out a surprised gasp. Emma doesn’t think much of it, she needs to focus on Killian and Killian alone.

A long silence follows, not even the darkness speaks anymore, awaiting for its host to take a decision. She wonders if the demons inside his mind are silent, too.

«Aye.»

Relief washes over her, threatening to overcome her. Before stepping inside, Emma dares to open her eyes. She wishes she never did.

There’s no light if not the one coming from the sphere next to her head, a tent of darkness has fallen over the doors leading to the balcony and all over the windows: the stars can’t reach him anymore, nor can the sight of the sea calm him.

But when her eyes fall on the Killian, Emma’s heart breaks. Nothing ever hurt like the sight of the man she’s fallen in love with in such a wrecked state.

He’s not curled up in a ball, no, he’s just standing there, in the middle of the dancefloor as she can see from the threshold. Around him, scattered on the floor, memories of his life before the darkness, what little he owns from happier times. No, not happier, but times in which he found the courage to seek that happiness, to seek the light in the darkness. Now, Emma only needs to remember him that he can find it again, even now.

The sphere swirls around her head before swaying in front of her, lighting her path down the staircase, the long leather coat she wears, one of the many gifts Killian gave her and which she treasures, swirls around her ankles. It’s not a gown, what she’s wearing looks more like a pirate attire, and yet she wonders how it would feel if there was soft music and she was-

A dark chuckle fills the ballroom. He’s never read her thoughts, and she doubts very much he is now, but the darkness never promised not to.

«Ah, I should’ve known,» Killian begins, a laugh in his tone, one that’s not full or mirthful, «the Princess has fantasies. I wonder, will you ever have the courage to take your kingdom back? Or you’d only like the perks of being a royal? Riches? Titles? Suitors? Is that what you truly desire, _love_?»

Killian stalks closer, his coat swinging at his swagger, but keeps away from the faint light of the sphere. He doesn’t want to be seen, somehow, the shame of himself has still a hold on him. Impossibly, the fragments her heart’s already in shatter.

«My kingdom is lost,» she declares, and she knows it is, she doesn’t want the throne, she doesn’t want the life of a princess, she just wants to be Emma. And with Killian, she’s been more Emma than she’s ever been before. «I am no princess, Killian. I’m only me.»

He snorts. «But there’s more to only you, isn’t it, _dragon rider_?» he laughs, loudly clapping his hands before finally stepping into the light.

A gasp leaves her lips. The first thought that crosses her mind is how beautiful he is. It’s a dark beauty, but beauty nonetheless. The soft edges of his face, the ones that harden when he’s angry, are sharp and tempting, more than they usually are already. But it’s not just darkness that swirls inside his beautiful, bright blue eyes, no, there’s more, nothing she ever saw. It looks a lot like madness.

His entire appearance is rougher, unkept, one she wouldn’t mind seeing both in and out of a bedroom were it been caused by her.

Sensing her feelings and, she doubts not, even her arousal, the darkness giggles. It’s proud of itself, Emma can feel that, but while it wants to seduce her, the man wants to hurt her just like he’s hurting right now. Emma needs to know what happened, she needs Killian to speak. She only hopes she’s ready to face whatever he’ll say to her.

She squares her shoulder. «You’re right, there’s more to me than a title or two. I thought you understood me.»

A snort escapes Killian’s mouth. She focuses on his lips, the way his scruff frames them making the breath catch in her throat. «Of course, of course I do, love,» he sneers, waiting for her to reach the dance floor before almost staggering towards her with graceful steps, «who else can understand an orphan if not another orphan?»

Emma’s eyebrows knit together in a frown. If there’s anything Killian never spoke about so openly, is his past, _especially_ the feeling of abandonment he’s carried within himself all his life. After Liam, he felt even more lost, but what made him an orphan is-

_It can’t be_ , Emma thinks, confused and worried. His… _that_ man surely died, more than two hundred years have passed since that night, that much she knows.

The jab at her own condition, at her own fears is overlooked: despite the pain making her heart throb, she knows it’s not her agony she needs to focus on, it’s not her life at stake.

«Killian,» she tries gently, not daring to move, «what happened?»

For a moment, he seems astonished by her question, as if he didn’t think she could care. Emma would smile, stating she’s not easily pushed away, not after what she’s realized – or rather, accepted – but doesn’t. That expression is gone in a blink. «Why, I didn’t know you cared.» Killian is still trying to push her away, and it’s not just the darkness. Unfortunately for him, Emma knows that _modus operandi_. Not only that, she knows how much regret they’ll both feel if she let herself being pushed away, if she chooses to leave him.

«Of course I care, Killian,» she rebuts, paying attention at how  he reacts with a slight wince every time she pronounces his name. She attempts a step forward. «Please, tell me what happened.»

It takes him quite a lot to answer. Emma knows he’s listening to the darkness, its voice like a siren’s. He squares his shoulders, his jaw pulled so tightly a muscle pulses in his jaw. «You really want to know, Emma?» he hisses.

A sure nod is all she needs, Emma knows he’ll tell her what happened to him, because deep down, he still needs her to listen to him, because no one understands him like she does.

Killian glances to his side, towards an object on the floor she cannot see, on of the very few belongings he carried with himself all his life. «My-» His voice wavers beneath the darkness that tinges it. «I found my father.»

Astonishment washes over her, incredulity makes blink several times as she takes in that information. She knows he’s not found his grave, but the man who abandoned him in flesh and bones.

At his words, Emma dares stepping forward, a hand raised in front of her. She’s stepping into the darkness, leaving the light orb behind. All the light Killian needs right now is the one coming from her.

«My love,» the words escape her lips, and Killian flinches backwards, as if burnt by her words. _That_ hurts her, but Emma doesn’t stop, she almost reaches him, not touching him yet. «How do you feel?»

In all his life, Killian has never known someone to care about his feelings aside from Liam. Not even Milah, only his mother, his brother and… Emma. He shakes his head, a mask of dark amusement covering his face now. «I’m perfectly fine, Emma,» he shrugs, a lopsided smile twisting his beautiful mouth, and she doesn’t need her superpower to know it’s a lie. What he says next makes the blood in her veins run cold as never before. «Besides, there’s no need to worry about him, he’s found his place inside Davy Jones’ locker now.»

It doesn’t take her long to understand the implications of his words, to understand that Killian’s father is dead and that- «Why?» Emma asks in a suffocated murmur, not chastising him, preoccupied for him instead.

The darkness and the man don’t seem to understand what hides beneath her words. Killian leans forward, darkness oozing off of him as he looks her down, her heels nothing compared to his height. He’s not even an inch, just a breath away from her. The intensity of his gaze seems to want to burn her, to incinerate her, turn her to dust like a raging dragon would. She wouldn’t care if only he was in control. «Why, Emma? Why did I kill my father, you ask?» His voice grows louder and louder, like a storm approaching. Her hair is tied in a braid gathered at the base of her head, but she can feel the breeze on her skin.

The storm is real and is almost upon them.

«Is the fact that he abandoned, nay, _sold_ me and my brother on a ship in the dead of the night not enough for you?» he states calmly, _too_ calmly, and Emma’s pulse quickens. His eyebrows shoot upwards, almost comically, and his eyes widen. Gods, his irises are so blue lighten up with madness, they are almost as beautiful as they usually are when darkened by lust.

The wind picks up around them, the curtains of darkness letting it in but keeping the light out still. Beneath her feet, Emma senses the castle start to tremble, the windows’ rattle fills her ears. Soon they will break; she just hopes neither her or Killian will.

He bends back a little, mocking her with his own expression. «Of course you didn’t know that, of course. It’s my fault, right, I never told you about that, only tiny bits, inklings of my life.» He shakes his head, turning his back on Emma.

Against her better judgment, Emma steps forward, and places a hand between the shoulder blades, feeling the buttery softness of the coat beneath her fingertips. It lasts for a moment, a brief contact Killian cuts off, his ringed fingers wrapping tightly around her wrists, his strength digging her bracelet into her flesh. Soon, blood starts dripping onto the floor. Emma doesn’t care. All she cares about is Killian.

«Don’t.»

His voice is broken, and Emma knows it’s her Killian talking, begging her to leave him because he’s not worthy of her light. Oh, how wrong he is.

It lasts only a moment more, the wind now penetrating through her clothes. Soon, his voice returns, icy as the coldest winter with no fire to survive it. The expression he wears grows even darker as he’s swallowed by the shadows around them. «I bet you wonder how he still is-» Killian laughs, a bitter sound that makes tears pool in Emma’s eyes. «Well, how he was still alive until I met him, don’t you?» He doesn’t wait for her answer, they both know she is; he’s only acting to favour the darkness, to amuse it. «Ah, Brennan Jones, always a bastard. Apparently, he crossed a witch, who in return put him after a sleeping curse.» He lets her go, blood still running down her fingers and coating his. He wiggles his index fingers, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. «You know, Emma, I’ve been stupid. Even if he abandoned us, I thought Brennan loved my mother. How foolish of me, to think his True Love could be her when he couldn’t even love their own children.»

A tear falls on the floor, splashing into a puddle of blood. The wind cools her flesh there, where the tears have traced paths down her cheeks.

«I was willing to let him go,» Killian admits weakly; the darkness hisses in disappointment, «I was willing to let him go on with his life. The woman-» he breathes in shakily, «his True Love is dead, that’s torture enough, isn’t it?» Oh, the glance Killian casts her, one that lets a sob escape her lips. Emma knows what he means, what the man drowning beneath the darkness feels. «But then I followed him, and what I found was even worse.»

Emma wants to comfort him, to wraps her arms around him and keep him close like he needs, like he _deserves_ to be held, to be loved.

Alas, Killian’s too lost in his mind and to the darkness to allow her to comfort him. «He lived in a cottage by the sea, but he wasn’t alone. There was a boy with him, and Brennan… he was repeating what he said to me the very night he disappeared.» A wave of his hand he is holding something that glints even in the darkness. It’s some nautical instrument, Emma knows only that.

«He named his son Liam.»

It’s barely a whisper, the cacophony of an upcoming natural disaster trying to drown those words, but Emma hears the words anyway. It’s then that her heart turns to ash.

Killian then turns to her, eyes dark with fury. Thunders break the silence and the rattling sounds grow louder. «I killed him in cold blood, Emma, I turned my own brother into an orphan, and all you can ask his why I did that?» The peals of thunder are nothing compared to his voice, her eardrums pulse painfully. «You don’t know how it feels like to be abandoned by choice and then find out the man who sold you into slavery has had the chance to find his own True Love. Not only that, but that he had another child, a son he named after his firstborn.»

As his voice echoes around them, so does the shattering of glass, sharp shards exploding towards them. Many clatter on the floor or against the stairs and its railing, others pierce Killian’s leather coat. Emma feels the warmth of blood slowly tracing a path down her right cheek before the pain registers. It’s faint, it’s mostly given by the constant throbbing of her blood vessels, but it doesn’t hurt as much as her soul is hurting now.

Another sound, the sound of metal breaking, echoes in her mind. The last memory he has of Liam, that’s what Killian is holding.

Wetting her lips and tasting her own tears, Emma steps towards him, her hand raised, the sphere of light now vanished after broken glass pierced through it. Beneath her boots, shards creak and fracture just like her heart did moments before.

Her fingertips touch his cheek and Killian shies away. She doesn’t care, he needs her, so she cups his jaw, thumb brushing the tender skin under his eye.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps, eyelids fluttering close as he leans into her touch, lost, seeking refuge in her.

«I would’ve done the same.»

Killian’s eyes snap open. It’s not a shock for her, the way she grew, up, what she is and what she had to endure through battles and tortures, Emma knows she would’ve done the same had Brennan Jones been her own father, and she’s not the Dark One. Killian needs not to be treated like a monster, he needs and deserves to be treated like a human being.

With her other hand, Emma reaches towards his clenched one, the one holding the golden instrument Killian clearly cares a lot about. Her fingers curl around his, her own rings clinking against Killian’s.

Slowly, Emma trails her hand down his neck, at last settling it over his heart, fingers slipping beneath his shirt. A hiss slips between Killian’s parted lips, warming Emma’s skin, almost burning her given how chilly it’s become.

«You are not a monster, Killian Jones, and you’re not nothing. You are-» Emma licks her lips, not wanting to turn it on herself, wanting him to fight for himself. «You are one of the best men I’ve ever known. You are not the darkness you carry inside. You are a good man with a good heart.»

A tear drops onto her wrist. Emma smiles weakly.

«Don’t listen to the darkness, Killian, I beg you. Don’t.» She inhales, knowing without actually seeing them, that Killian’s eyes are still on her. «Listen to your heart. What is it telling you?»

Several heartbeats pass before he says, voice thick with self-loathing: «That what I did was wrong, that L-Liam didn’t deserve to become an orphan.»

«And what about yo- Brennan? Did he deserve to die?»

Slowly, the wind starts to calm as does Killian’s soul, the thundering heartbeat beneath Emma’s palm now slower.

«Aye,» Killian spits out, «he did.»

Emma knows better than to ask about his little brother, to doubt about what Brennan would’ve done had he still been alive: that, they can discuss later.

Yes, Brennan Jones deserved to die, to pay for what he did for his children: as much as Emma believes in redemption, there’s much a human being can’t atone for.

In her hand, Killian’s is trembling. Carefully, as if not to startle him, she brings their joined hands between them. He tries to yank it away, but Emma doesn’t yield, and her nails find the tender skin just above the maze of blue veins on his wrist.

A growl fills the air, and a thunder roars right above the castle. «Don’t,» Killian hisses, «it’s broken, useless, just like everything I touch.»

The breath she takes is painful, burning her lungs. «That’s not true, my love,» Emma retorts, «you can fix it.»

When he opens his mouth next, he sounds so lost she wonders how he could ever escape Neverland’s demons. «I don’t know how.»

Although he did some spells as a Dark One, Killian never once tried to fix something, to repair a damage, preferring to conjure something new altogether rather than witnessing his own failure.

Emma’s lips are inches away from his, her forehead pressing against his. «Listen to your heart, Killian, not the darkness. Focus on your heartbeat, _feel_ the magic within you and will it to save one of your fondest memories.» _To save_ you.

One, two, three and countless heartbeats go by as Emma waits for him to find the light within the darkness, to see that the magic he possesses is not completely evil, that _Killian Jones_ is not evil.

At last, when nothing can be heard, light starts to spread from Killian’s palm, increasing in brightness so much Emma has to close her eyes, not before catching a glimpse of Killian’s face, his eyes still boring into hers as if he couldn’t look in another direction.

Behind her eyelids the light slowly fades back into darkness; beneath her palm, the metal has shifted, the sullied memory a happy one once again.

Before she can open her eyes, Emma feels a hand on her cheek, cold rings brushing against her skin as something warm penetrates under her dermis, healing the wound. The dried blood on her pearly skin disappears.

In front of her, the man she loves is still looking at her, eyes now filled with regret and sorrow. He doesn’t speak, not yet, simply contemplating the light she’s emanating from within, the light that just guided him home.

It lasts a blink before Killian collapses in her arms and she’s dragged down onto the floor with him. Emma doesn’t let him go, not even for a moment.

His voice wavers and breaks when he finally decides to use it. «Emma,» is the first thing that comes out of his lips, «please forgive me.»

Emma shakes her head, the man covering his coming up to cup his face. «Don’t apologize, Killian. Until today I didn’t realize how much the darkness was eating you alive.» She smiles, tracing the scar she’s grown fond of. «A friend once told me in her culture there can’t be light without darkness and darkness without light. It took me long to understand what she _truly_ meant, and now you know it, too. You are the light in the darkness, Killian, much like I have darkness in my light. The other can’t exist without the other. You just needed to be reminded of that.»

The emotion shining in Killian’s eyes, eyes she can finally see thanks to the starlight shining through the broken windows, is something she never saw before, yet one her heart knows the name and the meaning of. Tonight’s not the night of confessions, but she hopes he can see his feelings mirrored in her own eyes.

«I just needed my Northern star,» he murmurs, and Emma can’t take it anymore, she needs to show Killian he’s the light she needs to find her own, too.

Bending her neck, she searches his mouth for the most tender kiss they ever exchanged, the gentle brushing of lips enough to sate their need to feel the other as Emma’s hand cradle Killian’s head and his fingers caress her cheek, removing the phantom memory of the tears she’s spilled.

Emma sighs against him, the stars outside twinkle brightly.

The storm has passed for now, and just like any other, it will return, but now they know: as sailors joins forces to face it, they’ll battle theirs just like a crew does. Together.


End file.
